


A Secret it Must Stay

by RedundantHarpoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Kind of a SongFic (Link in End Notes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14121177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedundantHarpoons/pseuds/RedundantHarpoons
Summary: They came for her one winter's night, arrested she was bound.





	A Secret it Must Stay

“. . . counts of conspiracy to murder, kidnap, or maim; seventy three counts of murder of an Overwatch official; one count of arson or bombing of property; one count of use of explosives . . .”

He droned on and on, listing the charges, and it was clear most people had stopped listening long ago. Moira hadn’t been listening from the beginning, it didn’t matter. There was nothing she could do, not now.  And so she stood, staring at the map of the world, a world very much appearing to be caught in the crosshairs. It always did seem a stupid emblem for an organization united around peace.

She had been here for seventeen days, and she had become accustomed to the rough, itchy fabric of the grey jumpsuit she had been issued. _Such clothing shall in no manner be degrading or humiliating._ Perhaps her standards were higher than the UN’s. Her hands were bound, her legs shackled, as though they thought she could possibly escape despite every member of the UN and far more members of the press with their eyes locked on her unfortunate form.

She held head as high as she could, not giving them the pleasure of seeing her slouch in defeat, in submission. That was what she told herself. She didn’t want to admit that if she stretched her neck up she was able to stop the unbidden sobs and chokes more easily, that if she looked up at her accusers instead of down at the floor the tears simply stung her eyes rather than roll down her face.

_There was nothing she could do._

“Dr. O’Deorain?” The old man looked sternly down his nose from his podium ahead of her, and she shook her head. He repeated himself, “I’ll ask again. Dr. O’Deorain, what do you know about the destruction of the Overwatch Headquarters in Zurich, Switzerland?”

“Nothing,” Moira choked out, and it came out much quieter, much weaker than she had hoped for. She cleared her throat and said more loudly, “I know nothing about it.”

It was true. Well, mostly true. She had heard Reyes planning . . . _something._ But perhaps he didn’t trust her. Perhaps he didn’t need her. Perhaps what happened wasn’t what he had planned at all. But that was all over now, and she knew nothing about it.

But she was no fool, she was a keen observer. She knew when the silence hung heavy in the air, when the tension was palpable. She had had a hunch, yes, that _something_ would happen that night. That’s why she decided they should go away for the night . . . Moira shut her eyes tightly and grimaced. Better to blink and frown than sob and weep as the world’s cameras watched her answer for “her” crimes.

Secretary-General Fitzgerald flipped a few pages of notes on his desk, then returned his eyes to the prisoner to continue his questioning, “In our investigations since the bombing you know we uncovered that many individuals were involved in the organization known as . . . ‘Talon,’ is that correct Dr. O’Deorain?”

As if this hadn’t been in every news feed and clogging every airwave since the bombing. “I’d heard.” Moira grumbled.

“Within the recovered files many . . . _agents_ of Talon were listed, along with their jobs within the organization.” Fitzgerald paused, giving Moira a chance to speak. She didn’t, “Would you please tell us your role within this _Talon,_ Dr. O’Deorain?”

Moira had considered this for several days. What to say, what not to say. Talon was gone, Blackwatch was gone. All of it. And she was going to prison. This . . . there was no way out of this except to—

Moira remained silent.

“Dr. O’Deorain, your involvement in the activities Talon conducted is well-documented, and beyond questioning,” the Secretary-General continued, and Moira knew it was more for the record and for the benefit of the press than for herself. She already knew just how bad her situation was. It’s all she had thought about for seventeen days and nights, “And so I want you to know this, as we move forward with this tribunal’s proceedings, Doctor.” His voice was professional, yet held a hint of menace, shockingly intimidating for such an old, frail-looking man, “The work you did for Talon is a matter for another day, and another court. _Today_ we are here to determine your guilt in the matter of the destruction of the Overwatch headquarters that claimed the lives of seventy three individuals.” He took on a kind, concerned tone that Moira imagined him practicing in his mirror that morning, “And so I will ask again, what did you know about the attack on the Zurich headquarters and when did you know it?”

Silence.

The woman sitting beside Fitzgerald, Undersecretary Hollis, took a more direct approach. She seemed impatient. “Where were you at 2100 on the night of December 14, Dr. O’Deorain?”

Moira fought the urge to look up, look around, scan the watching crowd for a familiar face, a single comfort. She would not be here, if she was smart she wouldn't be anywhere near these proceedings. And she was so damnably smart.  Moira didn’t look around, but she couldn’t bring herself to hold her head up any longer. She let her chin drop to her chest, and closed her eyes, and imagined she was somewhere else.

Somewhere warm, somewhere soft, somewhere private. Just the two of them in their own world. No Overwatch. No Blackwatch. No Talon. Just them, a satisfying conversation over a satisfying dinner, a warm fire in the little rental cabin’s fireplace. “A night away? What if we get caught?” Moira could almost hear Angela’s eyes sparkle as they’d made the plans to meet outside of the city, halfway to the secluded little camping ground, their secret rendezvous. Moira wasn’t sure what would happen in Zurich that night, but she didn’t want either of them to be there to find out. Where was Moira on December 14 at 2100? Curled up under a soft duvet with Overwatch’s Head of Medical Research, Secretary-General, why do you ask?

Moira had played through _that_ scenario many times in these past seventeen days. If she were to tell what she knew and when she knew it, if she were to tell them where she was and what, who she was doing at the time. But what would come of it? Ostensibly she might be set free; she had made sure to keep her hands out of Talon’s actual _work_. She could defend herself against conspiracy charges with ease, she had always steered clear of actually performing illegal activities herself. But _Angela._ If Angela knew Moira, then Angela knew Blackwatch. If Angela knew Blackwatch, then Angela knew Talon. And with the UN already investigating Overwatch itself, to tie the two together through Angela . . . it would be the end of it all for Angela. 

“I—I don’t recall,” Moira finally answered in a loud, determined voice, “At home, alone, I suspect.”

“Can anyone confirm that you were nowhere near the Overwatch headquarters on the night of December 14, Dr. O’Deorain?”

“No. I was alone.” Moira kept her eyes shut tight, and she half-shouted the words to cover that in reality she was half-sobbing them.

“You are aware that with your strong ties to Talon, Talon’s guilt in the destruction already determined, and your lack of evidence to free you from guilt, Dr. O’Deorain, this council will have no choice but to append your name to those found guilty of the destruction of the headquarters and the loss of seventy-three Overwatch agents?” Fitzgerald had rejoined the conversation now.

Moira nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

A shuffle of papers and a heavy sigh that made his microphone pop and crackle was all Moira heard for a  moment, then it was complete, “Let the record indicate that on 31 December, 2070 Moira O’Deorain, citizen of the Republic of Ireland, member nation, is found guilty with regard to criminal case number 29105 with sentencing in kind to her co-conspirators. The convicted shall be remanded.”

Moira had expected it to be impactful, to feel as though the wind was knocked out of her. But she had been preparing for this for seventeen days, locked in her isolation cell with nothing and no one. When she’d heard about the explosion, the deaths, she knew she was done in. Without an alibi she was lost to the world, and her alibi, her Angela, was the one thing she would not give up, even if it meant her freedom. Even if it meant a lifetime.

The armed security forces were at her sides now, each taking an arm in hand and coaxing her stoic form toward the side door through which she’d been brought in. The shackles around her ankles clinked softly as she shuffled slowly along to face the fate she had brought upon herself. The trial officially disbanded, members of the press were now jockeying against the railing of their gallery to shout questions at Moira, and she heard the sounds of thousands of pictures being taken, but she didn’t care. She was already gone, gone to her home for the hard times ahead: The memory of warm, soft skin under a fluffy duvet, quiet words and laughter, and happiness in a little rental cabin [_**over the hills and far away**_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ec729nmajwc).

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure I love this one, but I hammered it out and thought I'd share. I may rewrite it some day with more oomph/emotions.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please click the final words of the fic and listen to the song, I believe it will improve the experience to hear it after finishing the story.**
> 
> (I am a Nightwish fan, but I think this cover conveys the emotions that inspired me to write the fic a bit better than the original.)


End file.
